


Good Omens Ficlets

by TaxicabKanefessions



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:56:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaxicabKanefessions/pseuds/TaxicabKanefessions
Summary: Little blurbs that are too small for their own files. Multiple pairings and characters.





	1. Beelzebub/Gabriel: The Hills are Alive with Reliable Informants

The house lights rose, and Gabriel rose with them. As he filed out with the crowd, he threw away the untouched drink and popcorn that he'd bought for the aesthetic. He entered the lobby to find that a storm, which had definitely not been there when The Sound of Music began. Again for the aesthetic, he miracled himself an umbrella to open as he headed out.

He made it two steps into the night when he saw Beelzebub. 

The demon was completely dry in the downpour, as if the rain were terrified to touch zem. The people, likewise, dodged around but that was more about humans being oblivious. If any of them had an inkling that a demon was in their midst, especially the Prince of Hell, they would have been running.

Instead, Gabriel calmly walked over and offered his umbrella. "Walk under this. It's less suspicious."

"I wazn't having any izzue," ze said, but dutifully ducked next to him.

"Well, regardless, it's a shame you got here so late. It was a wonderful showing."

"How many timez have you zeen it, now?"

"86, I believe." He smiled, proudly. "Give or take a few."

"I would have guezzed a lot higher," Beelzebub said.

Gabriel shrugged, apologetic but not to Beelzebub. "Well, you know... work."

Ze buzzed understandingly.

"So~." He changed the subject with a small bounce in his step. "To what do I owe the honor?"

He smiled down at zir, and ze glanced up dully at him.

"It izzz beginning," ze said. "Crowley is delivering the child az we zpeak."

"Crowley, really? I would have thought you'd have given that honor to someone... higher ranked." He'd very much thought Beelzebub would have wanted to do it zirself.

Ze's look said that he wasn't wrong about that, but ze said, "He waz hand picked by the Morningztar, zo he waz obviouzly the correct choize. "

"Well, that's wonderful!" Gabriel exclaimed happily. "You've been working on that since the fourth century, haven't you?"

"Fifth," ze corrected with the slightest tinge of pride in zir voice.

"Well, kudos on it working out!" He thought a moment. "Eleven years, then?"

"Az it iz written."

"Plenty of time to train the forces." He grinned down at zir. "And I have 11 more years to show you the movie."

"It will never happen.."

"Well, the way I see it, there are two options. You can either see the movie with me now. Or, after good conquers evil which it will as it always does, I'll just pump the movie into Hell. An endless loop for the rest of time." 

"We're going to win, you can count on it," Ze told him, firmly.

"But is it worth the risk?"

They walked quietly into an alley, and then ze grumbled. "When's the next showing?"

"This Friday. There's one in Canada."

Beelzebub glared, but right before ze disappeared in a cloud of sulfur said "I'll think about it."

Gabriel smiled as he prepared to head back, then thought better of it. Best to tell your man on the literal ground when you had such reliable information.

He caught the feeling of Aziraphale's aura and teleported there instead.


	2. 4 Horsepeople: Bake Sale

"I'm sorry I'm late," Pollution said, slightly breathless as they sat down. "There was an oil spill I couldn't miss. But I did bring a peace offering." They put a plate on the table, removed and then threw the aluminum foil on the floor of the diner.

Famine leaned forward a bit. "Is that... Is that banana bread?"

"I made it myself," They said, their breathy voice tinged with pride. 

"I have a Chow™ banana bread. I know you know that, you were there when I premiered the new line of baked goods."

"Yes, I really appreciated how much Styrofoam ended up on the ground."

"Then why wouldn't you just bring that?"

"Because bananas are a treasure trove of fungicides and pesticides," they explained, "And the walnuts, the processed sugar, the factory-farmed eggs that were removed their shells to be put into a non-recyclable container that all have to be shipped... Chow™ has nothing on that."

"Also Chow™ tastes terrible," War said, bluntly, as she pulled a piece onto the paper plates Pollution had brought rather than the ceramic one she'd been using before.

"It does not!" Famine insisted.

"When's the last time you actually ate it?" she asked. She took a pointedly large bite. "This is very good. And only cooking oil, tastes like."

"Thank you," Pollution breathed, "It took a lot of effort."

"It's... it's been a while," Famine admitted, "But I always focus group it."

"Maybe you need to find a better focus group," War said.

"You could, at least," Death said, as he made his presence known, "Try a bite before getting upset."

Famine wanted to argue, but it never did any good against Death. At least, it never did any good for the other person.

He took a piece, and then a tentative bite.

"And?" War asked.

"And maybe I'll change my recipe," Famine admitted. "And work on my focus grouping."

"The further you get the ingredients shipped from, the more people will eat it," Pollution assured him.

"Is that how it works?" he asked as he bemusedly took another bite.

"Close enough."


	3. 4 Horsepeople: Adoption Agency

The smell of freshly dropped bombs was one of War's favorites. Used explosives mixed with dust and oil from the wreckage, and all coated in fresh blood… it was irresistible.

Well, generally anyway. This bombing must have hit _something_ because there was an almost greasy feeling to the air. It made her long for a bath, which wasn't usual for the middle of a field of destruction at all.

War stepped on something that definitely didn't crunch like rubble. She lifted her foot to examine it and found a food wrapper. Not a local one, though, or even native to the bombers.

"You made an amazing mess."

Her head snapped up. Nobody should have sounded that healthy after an attack like this. That meant either an angel or a demon, and neither was likely there to be friendly.

Before she could take her stance, she spotted a child in a white tracksuit that matched their colorless hair and eyes. Their whole body was dotted with oily, black smudges.

The child waved and smiled. “Famine and Pestilence won’t make messes like this. I’ve asked.”

War smirked and relaxed her posture. “So you must be the new one I’ve heard about. You’re growing fast, Pollution.”

“Humans keep finding better and better ways to create garbage,” they said, wistfully. 

They’d been born at the start of the industrial revolution, and drank in the smog and grime like a bottle. Thanks to the march of technology, it’d only taken a few decades to reach elementary age.

"Are you moving around alright?" War asked. "Among the humans, I mean."

Pollution sighed. "Not as much as I used to. After child labor laws started, people started getting upset that I was hanging around a smoke stack…" They kicked at a rock in an attempt to look shy. A newspaper floated away from them. “Was hoping for an escort. Just until I can pass on my own.”

War smirked, " And you think _I'd_ pass as a mommy?"

"Enough for a passerby, I think," they said, and hopefully added, "And I can make the destruction worse. Make sure gas tanks rupture, have dumpsters overturn, contaminate food and water… it's enough to make people even angrier."

Famine and Pestilence had practically been born as adults, but War hadn't. She'd had to build herself up through population growth and technological development. Though she wished it wasn't, it was easy to remember how much of a hassle it'd been as a child wandering around a battlefield.

She would have said yes regardless, but if Pollution really wanted to play protegé… 

War tossed up a bag of weapons that Pollution struggled to catch. 

"Come on, let's go."

Pollution gave a broad, if eerily tranquil, smile as they slid down the rubble and hauled the bag over their shoulder. Various bits of trash swirled in the breeze as the two personifications walked off to cause more harm.


	4. Aziraphale/Crowley: IKEA

"This place was one of yours, wasn't it?" Aziraphale asked in their second hour of wandering the aisles.

"What makes you say that?" Crowley dodged around a woman pushing a very full cart.

Aziraphale looked disapprovingly at a particularly scratchy towel. “An endless maze of overpriced furniture that’s impossible to assemble, guaranteed to be missing pieces, and then break within a few weeks? People are miserable in here, will be miserable later, and yet will always keep coming back. It’s the most demonic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Crowley paused and, with the slightest voice crack, asked softly, “Don’t suppose I could also get a ‘wahoo’.”


	5. Ligur: Pest Control

The group of demons slunk up to the cluttered desk. They shuffled, seemingly all trying to hide behind each other at once.

“You.” Ligur said, sharply, as he pointed to one at random.

The demon was shoved forward.

Ligur hadn’t been popular in Heaven, and that certainly hadn’t changed after the Fall. He was respected, of course, because he didn’t give others much of a choice, but nobody would seek him out if they had options.

“Well, er… you see… there’s a moth.”

Lurky was very much another story, though.

Moths were obnoxiously common down in Hell since they were attracted to Hellfire (especially the sort that came when they returned). And, in one of the rare good things to happen to them, Beelzebub declared no ownership over moths so they were free to take care of them as they wished.

The preferred method of the lowest rung of demons had this group tagging behind him at a safe distance. The gap pointedly increased as he grabbed a stick that leaned against the wall and held it up to his forehead. The chameleon clambered onto it and then rode like a king above the trudging creatures of Hell.

The demons directed them to a presentation room where a moth fluttered around the overhead projector. The audience and presenter watched with poorly disguised enthusiasm as he lowered the stick.

Lurky’s eye swiveled, he slowly turned his head, and in a flash his tongue shot out to drag the moth back to be chewed up.

Everyone (besides Beelzebub, who inadvertently winced) clapped because Lurky was officially the only creature in Hell who’d ever pulled their weight enough to earn clapping.

Ligur moved the stick so that Lurky could clamber back up and nestle in his hair, then skulked (as was the proper mode of movement for a demon) back to his paperwork.

“What’s it feel like to be the most popular guy down here?” Ligur asked as he sunk back into his chair.

Lurky belched.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”


	6. 4 Horsepeople: Last Call

War swirled the shot glass around a few times. She noted, distantly, that her coordination was considerably worse than it'd been only an hour before. There were now tragically large splashes of vodka on the table. Probably best to stop.

She downed what remained in the glass with one gulp, then reached over to fill it again. The bottle was pulled away before she could grab it. 

"Here, let me."

Famine took hold of her wrist to steady the glass as he filled it up. Only then did he take a seat.

"Come to say goodbye?" War asked, voice heavy and bitter. 

"And to offer you a place to sleep it off before you head out. I just signed the lease on a lovely apartment." He topped her off when she pushed her glass over for a refill. "Haven't seen you take a ceasefire this hard since the Hundred Years War."

"That was a good one…" she slurred, whistfully. "But this was special. So many new weapons, so much creativity in blowing each other to bits…" War sighed tragically as she shot down the vodka. "And then they ruin it all by declaring peace!"

"Awful when that happens."

"It really is."

He filled her cup again. "Well, if I'm around people are going to get desperate and angry sooner or later. Hopefully they'll keep their guns around."

"That'd be great," she downed the drink and demanded another.

"Afraid that's all there was." He held the bottle upside down for emphasis. "And I swear it wasn't me."

"'s fine," War muttered. "Think I'm gonna puke, anyway."

Famine helped her up, and smiled to the waiter who desperately tried to figure out what had happened to all the food. 

"Try to get it right near some diners, okay? I'd love to throw off a few more appetites on the way."

War retched a bit and leaned heavily against him. "Will do."


End file.
